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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717364">The Silence Is a Choice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatATime/pseuds/WhatATime'>WhatATime</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian Wayne-centric, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Damian Wayne, Silence, Unresolved Emotional Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:08:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatATime/pseuds/WhatATime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever he thinks to say something, it feels as if his trachea is being crushed by something prickly. Sometimes, if someone is asking him a question or he’s out on the field, he answers, but most of the time his tongue stays still. In his mind, he calls the silence a choice. He chooses to say less due to his own preferences, a budding maturity maybe. That is what he would say if someone asked about it, anyway. No one has asked, though.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bruce Wayne &amp; Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne &amp; Everyone, Dick Grayson &amp; Damian Wayne, Jason Todd &amp; Damian Wayne, Tim Drake &amp; Damian Wayne, Tim Drake &amp; Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd &amp; Bruce Wayne &amp; Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>359</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Silence Is a Choice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>She comes after two months... Yeah. I've been writing (I never stop writing), but some things don't feel good enough and others are originals. Here's a fanfic about Damian, his brothers, and silence.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Damian Wayne considers himself simpler than most. He doesn’t ask for much, and, in the time he’s been with his father, he’s learned to not say much either. He doesn’t know where his silence comes from, just that it has been creeping up on him even more lately. Whenever he thinks to say something, it feels as if his trachea is being crushed by something prickly. Sometimes, if someone is asking him a question or he’s out on the field, he answers, but most of the time his tongue stays still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This isn’t to say he’s scared of the silence. Damian is brave. He’s the son of the Bat, grandson of the Demon, after all. He can’t recall the last time he was truly afraid of something, and even if he could, that time is not at all relevant to today, to his feelings towards the silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In his mind, he calls the silence a choice. He chooses to say less due to his own preferences, a budding maturity maybe. That is what he would say if someone asked about it, anyway. No one has asked, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sees his brothers giving him queer looks, his father’s ears twitching in the empty space where Damian used to shove insults and quips. Drake’s response has been to smile; Todd’s to roll his eyes; and Grayson and Pennyworth have said nothing at all. They never meet his eyes either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s no one to meet his eyes right now. He’s off on a building above Gotham, soaking in the inky, starless night by himself. He cannot hear or see anyone coming, but he has a feeling at least one person will be by him soon. Patrol is over, but rarely anyone goes home immediately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>True to his expectations, someone does come next to Damian in the next minute. Only, it’s his father. The Batman usually spends the hour after still working on something or that elusive one last case, but now he’s perched next to his Robin, jaw not strung up as tightly as usual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sucking in a breath, Damian waits for his father to speak. And he will wait for his father to speak first. Damian hasn’t done that in a while. He hears his older brothers saying something in the comms. but doesn’t catch the exact words, just something about burgers, malts, the weekend, and Roy Harper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to go?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a victory. To make the Bat speak first is a victory. And even though his nerves’ edges are dull, he feels the success in the form of a tingle in his chest, light buzz. If anyone is curious, Damian will say that his delay in answering is due to the feelings of that achievement and not the weight on his voice box. “No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know your tastes are more…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Refined,” Damian finishes, a stuffy puff in his tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you liked burgers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it Roy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian swallows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not too fond of Roy either. Even when he was a kid, he was annoying like Oliver.” His father looks over at him. “Cucumber sandwiches are always good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Damian tightens his grip on the ledge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell Agent A we’re on our way back.” He launches into the sky seconds later. Gone again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes Damian a few seconds to follow. His mind wanders during his grappling home, but unlike his hook, he doesn’t grasp onto any certain thought or subject, just winds and weaves. It’s interesting, having one’s mind in such a free fall. A lesser man would he unsettled, but Damian is nothing if not great.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rough line between the real world and his brain isn’t smoothed over until he’s left the shower and grips the railing of the stairway up to the main part of the house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s on your mind?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking up, Damian notices his father at the top of the stairs. It’s not clear if his father is trying to go up or down, just that he’s an obstacle. Damian doesn’t think he means obstacle in the negative sense of the word, but his father’s positioning isn’t quite a positive either. “Nothing,” Damian says, his tongue feeling heavy as he pushes the word out like sludge. Nothing. Nothing is on Damian’s mind, and that’s the stance he’ll keep, no matter what follows his answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seems like you’ve been thinking a lot lately.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Puffing his chest out, Damian continues up the stairs. “I haven’t.” He escapes any further questioning and begins towards his bedroom, his fingers lining the linen walls of the hall until he tucks himself into his room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a moment, he wavers around the lock but eventually decides against it and settles on the floor by his bed, his feet jamming against the wall farthest from the door. This way he is obscured from view.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian pulls his sketchpad and a pencil from the bedside table. No, he hasn’t been thinking a lot lately. And no, nothing is on his mind. Stop asking. He draws lines, long and deep lines. As he scratches his pencil’s tip against the paper, he wonders how deep he can go. Where is the seed, the roots?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he’ll find the reason for the silence if he can make the lead dark enough, if he can create a black mirror to stare into and see his true self. He keeps going until the fibers of the thick drawing paper rip apart and the coal black shuffles onto the page below his current one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That won’t work. Shame. It’s possible he didn’t want it to work hard enough. That possibility is as slim as the crack between his bedroom door and the door frame. He doesn’t turn to look at whoever is opening it, his ears having caught the sound.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A part of him hopes that whoever it is will just go away if he pretends not to hear them. When the person walks further inside, he wonders if something gave him away or if it’s just insistence. Turning, Damian sees Dick. Insistence personified maybe?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s only a maybe because Dick Grayson isn’t half as pushy or touchy feely as some will make him out to be. A Dick Grayson who hugs and laughs all of the time is a caricature or a foil. Dick has a tendency to make people, especially those in his family, uncomfortable. But that often isn’t his intent, and he rarely crosses the line on purpose. In fact, he’s not even toeing it right now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick sits on the bed, the muscles of his face loose but a practiced looseness. He doesn’t speak. Damian takes this to mean that Dick expects him to start the conversation, but if Damian could win against his father, he doubts Dick will be much harder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t remember if this is the first time Dick has tried to rid him of the silence, but it will definitely be the most memorable. At this point, they have been staring at each other for the past two minutes and twenty seconds. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian will count forever if he has to. He will not fold. And this has nothing to do with the increased pressure in this throat. The weight is increasing to the point where he is starting to doubt his ability to say anything. Husky choke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dick, where’d you go— Oh.” Tim is peering into the bedroom now, pushing the door wider. Damian can see Jason’s shadow in the hallway. He wonders what made any of them stay. Each of the older Batboys has multiple homes of his own that are warmer and less awkward than the manor can be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick still doesn’t speak. Damian can’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you guys doing?” Tim asks, coming in fully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now it’s Jason’s turn to settle against the door jam. He doesn’t look at Dick but directly at Damian, his eyes suggesting he knows something. Damian doesn’t even have to imagine what that something is to feel like squirming, but he holds steadfast, knowing any movement now will give him away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He directs his eyes back to Dick, lips tight. Realizing he probably looks stiff, Damian unhinges his shoulders and infuses a slight grin. He will not let them win. He will not give things away. The silence is his and no one else’s. And he is not scared of it, and he does not need saving, and the pressure will go away if he swallows enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is weird.” Since Damian and Dick aren’t answering, Tim turns to Jason, cocks his head to the side. “Isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jason shrugs and crosses his arms, adopting a silence of his own and keeping his gaze on Damian.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re looking at Damian as if there were something to him, as if something complex needs to be solved. He is not a puzzle, though. He is simpler than most. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t speak. He is simple. You cannot break a simple code because it does not have enough pieces. He is the base. He is indestructible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Dick sighs, Damian knows his oldest brother may be coming to this conclusion as well. Either that or he is giving up for the time being. Even though the latter is more likely, Damian has accepted the former as fact, as what will go in the chronicle of his mind under today beside failure. No one can rid the silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, Damian feels the grip of its tendrils loosening from around him. The weight is leaving him. He is still not scared, and his silence is something he chooses. Right now he is choosing a brand of appeasement in the wake of his brother’s loss. He is in control like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rolling his eyes, Tim sighs as well. “Well, now I feel like the only normal one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get over yourself, Timmy,” Jason says, finally breaking away from Damian.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you guys doing?” Tim asks for the second time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dickie probably just wants to know why the demon brat opted for cucumber sandwiches instead of burgers, but I don’t know why that’s too relevant.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Flipping the page of his sketchbook, Damian hides the black and tear, trading it for a fresh page no one can try to stare at and analyze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” With Dick’s one word, he’s declared Damian the winner of their small feud.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s when Jason enters the room and closes the door. Something foreboding about the motion causes the silence to scratch at the bottom of Damian’s throat. Dick’s is just a battle. This is a war. They never want to stop. They always want to push as if he won’t push back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Twisting, Damian sits against the wall instead of his bed, knowing he’ll need to be facing them for whatever is coming next. It’s probably the something Jason has. Stupid Jason. Prying Jason. Dick’s stare Jason’s way indicates he’s open to whatever Todd has.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the way Tim is biting his bottom lip shows that he’s edging uncomfortably just like Damian. Avoidance is one thing Damian has in common with the last Robin his father chose. Looking at Jason, he waits for the something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, I know we’ve all noticed it, but I guess I’m the only one with guts enough to say something straight out.” Jason pauses to let his first words sink in before continuing. “Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> you come to have burgers?” It’s a fake question. Sure, the text is asking about burgers but the subtext is about the silence. Jason’s waging another battle with it. Damian hopes he doesn’t upset the silence too much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has to swallow the silence down twice before he can speak. “Because Roy Harper is an imbecile.” Damian has managed to space the words out well, but he can tell by how they came out they had not been in his normal cadence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Imbecile</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Jason rolls his eyes. “That’s some weak stuff. Tell me why really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because you suck.” That sounds more normal, however juvenile. Damian riles a snort out of Tim, though Dick isn’t too convinced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> suck, Jay,” Tim says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine, we’ll do it this way. Tim, tell me why we’re here since Damian won’t say why he didn’t want to come for burgers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You do know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tim glances at Damian, his face sobering. “If I had to take a guess, maybe because Damian’s been a little less annoying lately.” Third person. Tim is avoiding speaking to Damian directly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Close enough.” Jason looks at Damian. “You’ve been quiet. Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What Jason means to ask is if something is wrong,” Dick says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing is wrong,” Damian answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then why are you so quiet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is no reason for the silence. Damian doesn’t know how to articulate this. He’s not sure if that’s because he secretly thinks there’s a reason for the silence or because it’s difficult. Damian Wayne is fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See? You’re doing it again.” Jason thumps the back of his head against the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence lingers next to him, watching him. “I’m not, and there is no reason.” Damian wonders if it’s a mistake to admit that there is silence. He feels its existence is becoming visible enough that there’s no point in denying any longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Talking is fine. Talking is natural. Damian is the most natural of them all when it counts. He is the most normal when it counts, too. He is the embodiment of fineness, of ambivalence, of all in the world that demands to be left alone for once. And on this hill he will stay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence is his choice. He is not scared of the silence. No one can beat the silence. The silence is his. There is nothing wrong, and nothing rests on his mind, and the only thing lingering that is ill is this conversation, is the insistence of these people.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Something’s obviously wrong—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing’s wrong with silence,” Tim says, cutting Jason off. “I mean, we used to beg the kid to be quiet, and now he is. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You just want to go because you’re uncomfortable.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Or maybe I don’t think we should be bothering him for no reason.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No reason?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop arguing,” Dick says, his fingers twitching. It imagines Damian of how his father will something raise his hand in the air to signal a pause, a ceasefire. “I’d say we care, but that’s a bit cheesy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very,” Damian says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, the three turn to leave. Jason goes out first, followed by Dick. Tim is last, but as soon as their shadows disappear, he comes back to the doorway. “If something does end up on your mind…” Tim trails off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pushing back a grimace, Tim exits for good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence belongs to Damian, and he is not fearful of it. In fact, he chooses it. Maybe something will come up on his mind, but for now the silence isn’t wrong. If anyone asks, Damian will confirm the silence’s existence, but its toxicity, the weight on his windpipe, will always remain understated.</span>
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